


Zelenka's Gambit

by doomcanary



Series: The Pegasus Way [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-15
Updated: 2007-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney can't get laid. Zelenka has some helpful suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. J'Adoube

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I,” says Rodney with immense, unstable dignity, “am a _gentleman_.”

It was after the incident with the Iratus bug and the jumper stuck in the space gate that Rodney and Radek had taken to sharing coffee in Radek's quarters. They sat over steaming mugs late at night, when most of the city slept. It was a good way to unwind after a close shave, or even just a long day in the lab; it was time that helped bring their skittering brains back down to a speed that allowed for things like sleep. Sometimes they would play chess, sometimes talk. One night - the night after Rodney had half-inadvertently saved Major Sheppard from a Wraith - Radek had grinned and pulled a litre canister of Halling's tongue-blistering tuttle vodka out of his foot-locker. Rodney, who had only stopped shaking from the aftermath an hour or so before, accompanied him in drinking it; he spluttered over his first shot and slowly acclimatised to the taste, and by the time he left for his own room he was loose-limbed and comforted. And somehow, between one crisis and the next, it's that slow lazy drinking together that's become the biggest tradition.

Radek is a morose drunk, with an astonishing capacity for alcohol; he gets through the liquor so fast that Rodney, whose tolerance is considerably more limited, is rarely more than pleasantly mazy by the time the night is gone. Tonight they are well into the litre, and Radek must be feeling conservative; Rodney is sprawling loosely on a narrow chair, his centre of gravity dangerously far from central.

“See that, that,” he says, gesturing with the half-inch of innocuously clear fluid left in his cup, “is the problem with being the chief scientist. Bam; nobody will *ever* sleep with you, ever, because either they'd be sleeping their way up or they're trying to cover their own asses and get special treatment for incompetence.”

Radek snorts. “You would not let a little thing like sex stop you tearing colleague a new asshole for stupidity.”

“I,” says Rodney with immense, unstable dignity, “am a _gentleman_.” He slips dangerously on the chair and scrabbles for a moment, before shoving himself a little more upright. “My mother told me you have to be, you know, all mushy with girls once you're dating, so they don't get all offended at things you said. Because, because you have, like, special access or something and it's like having a nuclear bomb, like you might blow their whole brain up if you push the wrong key.”

Radek shakes his head and downs the rest of his drink. Reaching for the canister again, he says, “So you give up trying to date girls,” he says. “Find nice strong simple-minded man instead. With large cock,” he adds, nodding sagely.

“Oh you are not serious,” says Rodney. “Do you have any idea how repressed the Marines are about that shit? I mean Ford told me military guys hook up all the time and suck each other off an' stuff, like it's just normal to them, but how do they even ask? I mean obviously I'm the most intelligent man in this galaxy, but not even I can work out how to get laid by someone who can't even admit they want it!”

“So you screw also no Marines,” replies Zelenka patiently. “More than half of science team is male, and many work in fields very different to yours. Arse need only be covered in lubricant of choice.”

Rodney abruptly subsides, staring into his cup. “I don't like the scientists,” he says, eventually. “I mean, who would I screw? That guy from botany, what's-his-name, he's already taken, and the biologists, oh God, they're so dull. And gross. They're like this weird dull-and-gross monster thing; I tried to eat lunch with some of them once and I had to go and sit somewhere else when they started discussing what kind of pathogens are most common in Athosian food and how much they make you puke.”

“Is always Kavanagh,” offers Zelenka. Both men snort with amusement.

“But, but, you're distracting me, stop doing that,” says Rodney. “The chemists and Williamson are all straight, and I have no idea about those two zoologists at all. Except they have that weird hairy millipede thing in their lab and they think it's _cute_.” He sounds personally affronted by this. “Which leaves George the Golfing Oceanographer, physics and astrophysics. QED.”

“Ah,” says Zelenka, and they lapse into silence.

*

The next day, both ratty and under-par with hangovers, Rodney and Radek systematically destroy an enormous swathe of minor niggles and maintenance tasks around the city, from unjamming doors and fixing lighting to the Ancient equivalent of putting up shelves.

“I have thought of a solution to your problem, Rodney,” says Zelenka, as Rodney is head and shoulders into an access panel in the wall of one of the Marines' quarters, rerouting the main water supply away from the weird kinetic sculpture on the second level that makes the irritating noise.

“What?” says Rodney. “Don't be ridiculous, I've already done it, all I had to do was reconnect the main crystal with its – ammeter, please.”

“No, no, your problem of sex,” says Radek, passing the tool. “Oh, I -” says Rodney, then there is a clatter of cascading crystals. Rodney curses, then sighs.

“Water first, sex later. Tape.” Impatient fingers snap. Radek hands over a roll of duct tape in judicious silence.

They knock off on time for once, hangovers slowly abating under the onslaught of coffee. Over dinner they bicker companionably with Miko Kusanagi and Delaney, one of the infamously straight chemists; Rodney exchanges nods with Teyla and Sheppard as they wander through. Radek suggests chess, and Rodney accepts; they amble into the transporter and out in one of the residential hallways, a level or two down from the science labs. Rodney thinks it must have something to do with the fact that his quarters are on this level too, but they've never had a single maintenance problem down here. He's strangely proud of the fact the city appears to be slightly scared of him.

They're six or seven moves into the game – a standard enough opening on Radek's part, but hints of something more interesting to come – when Rodney asks, “So what's your solution, then?”

“Ah,” says Zelenka, animating a little and lifting a finger. “It is very very obvious. So. Subject is male, head of the science team, and wishes to get laid. Women are off-limits for reasons of complicated mush. Marines are off-limits, too repressed; science team other than physics and astrophysics are either straight or unacceptable, in many cases both. You are concerned that sleeping with a colleague of inferior status and intellect will present ethical and disciplinary problems. Solution: subject must sleep with an equal. A colleague as close as possible in status and intellect to yourself. To get laid, you must sleep with me.”

Rodney blinks.

“Is excellent idea,” says Zelenka. “Practical – we both find relief – and also enjoyable. I am told I have a very talented tongue.” There's a definite twinkle in his eyes.

“And if you're straight?” asks Rodney. It's a workable theory, after all.

“I am not straight.” Zelenka smiles.

“Huh.” Rodney sits back from the chessboard and thinks this through. He stands up, pacing back and forth, and thinks it through some more.

“Repression; duh. Obviously not a problem. I already know I can work with you; of course you're not my intellectual equal, but I'll allow that you get a lot closer than most of the morons who call themselves my staff.” He swings round and points triumphantly at Radek. “You don't get all sooky when I insult you. You're not a girl.”

“Am not a woman, yes,” Radek agrees placidly.

“Yes, yes, it fits together, it's right,” says Rodney, excited, then pauses. “But it's not _right_. Something doesn't feel right.” It's the same thing he says when he's about to have a brilliant insight, the flashes of genius Radek knows he can't equal; but this time, he peters out. He looks out through Radek's salt-speckled window towards the sunset, frowning. It's all there, but he just can't make it work.

“Rodney, I am a willing body and a mind nearly equal to your own,” says Zelenka softly. Rodney is startled to find Radek is right behind him. He can feel a slight but steady warmth radiating from his colleague's wiry frame. “I think perhaps all that is missing is a slight perspective shift.”

Rodney turns, and blinks again. Zelenka has taken off his glasses. His eyes are pale, ringed with grey-blue like islands ringed with deep water, and a little sad. Rodney looks at him, looks at the surface of this being he's so used to interacting with as pure mind. He sees a face that must have been beautiful in youth, with wide cheekbones, wavy hair and a strong chin. He sees skin beginning to crinkle a little around the eyes and the corners of the mouth; he sees rough light-brown stubble, and raises a hand that hovers uncertainly by Radek's shoulder, as if wondering whether to touch. Zelenka's face is like a room that's been lived in for years; a place someone has made into a home.

“Perspective,” Rodney repeats, softly and pensively. Radek looks into his eyes, and Rodney feels that perspective opening out before him. Gravity swings away from him, and down is no longer a drop towards the sea; it's letting himself dissolve into those eyes.

Delicately, with experimental care, he leans in towards Radek, eyes flickering to his lips and back. Radek never breaks their gaze as they close, his eyes holding Rodney up like the ocean holds the city; their expression is warm, and just a little expectant. Only as Rodney feels breath ghosting on his cheek does that intense gaze drop; Radek's lips part a little, and they kiss.

Their lips brush slowly, soft and dry; Radek's stubble is long and soft, and the springing touch of it is a flood of sensation. Rodney pulls back slowly, opens his eyes to find Radek looking at him again, levelly and gently. Those tiny creases at the corners of his mouth begin to deepen a little as the ghost of a smile touches his face.

Radek, for his part, is watching Rodney's face; watching wide blue eyes that are suddenly focused on him and him alone. Radek's Rodney is a bundle of enthusiasm and energy, all racing thoughts and motoring mouth; this Rodney is different, wide open to sensation, drinking in Radek as a desert drinks in rain. He watches as their kiss slowly sinks into Rodney's skin, into wondering eyes that soak it up like a gift unasked for; and he watches through the long, honey-slow pause that follows, before Rodney's broad hand settles warm on his sleeve, and the distance between them closes again.

This time Rodney's arms slide around Radek's body, Radek's fingers curl around Rodney's shoulder; Rodney's lips part and Radek tilts his head, fitting them together like hand curling into hand. Rodney feels Radek in his arms, a wiry solidity of mass and force and heat; the skin of his bare forearm is rough with hair and soft over the hardness of muscle. Radek's tongue brushes Rodney's lips and Rodney instinctively pulls them closer still, his warm arm around Radek's waist pressing them hip to hip. Rodney breathes in the musky scent of Radek's skin, feels his breath catch at the electric slide of Radek's tongue against his; Radek lets his arms slide further around Rodney's back, drawing Rodney in, connecting them in a slow feedback loop. There's a serpentine warmth coalescing, bleeding into their contact from hands and shoulders and soft closed eyes, and it flushes onto their skin, gathering its own momentum.

The kiss breaks, and now Radek's eyes are darker, rings of ice around wide pupils. Rodney is leaning into him, breathing deeper, a little faster. He snatches an open-mouthed kiss, trailing his tongue over Radek's lips, then lifts a hand to cup Radek's cheek and rest their foreheads together.  
“This is going to work,” he says.

“Yes,” says Radek. “Yes, it is.” And then with a slow smile he straightens, and gently pushes Rodney a step backward with firm hands on his waist. Glasses still in his left hand, he reaches for his coffee mug and takes a long slow sip, watching Rodney all the time. Rodney tilts his head consideringly and his eyes narrow, waiting for Zelenka's next move.

Zelenka sets his mug down on the table beside them, lays a finger gently on the chessboard, and slides a piece forward.

“And now,” he says, “I think it is your turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I lost this bet with the person who wrote the article that inspired On Loving A Geek. So I had to write a whole lot more of it...


	2. Hanging Pawns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Hanging pawns](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chess_terminology#H) are two friendly pawns abreast, exposed on the front lines of a chess game. (The title of this section was very nearly "Crumbs from the Chessboard", after a very amusing 1890 book of chess problems. Just read the preface, it's hysterical :) )

Rodney knows exactly what his next move on the chessboard is going to be. Radek plays boldly, but his defence is sloppy and he's going to leave some key piece exposed. Rodney has caught him out like this before.

The next move in this new and other game is a different matter. By some unspoken agreement, last night Rodney had left Radek's room, taking a slow and searing kiss by way of a goodbye. He had walked back down the hall blissful and half-hard, every line and corner of the Ancient patterns on the walls seeming sharper, more focused, as if it were newly made for his eyes alone. Now, past noon in the lab, he finds himself stealing glances at Zelenka, feeling unspoken questions hanging in the air. There's some kind of energy between them, almost tangible, and Rodney finds he's always aware of exactly where Radek is in the room. Once Radek looks his way, eyes flashing ice-blue behind his glasses, and a secret, knowing smile curls across his lips. Rodney has to take in a breath at the spike of desire that courses through him. He stops in front of a whiteboard, clasping his hands together with the index fingers resting against his lips. But it's not the scrawled and altered diagram, littered with hasty annotations, that's capturing his attention.

Early in the afternoon, Radek is called out of the lab to the north-east pier to investigate a dead transporter. He arrives at the end of another identikit Atlantis hallway, toolbox in hand, and steps inside. The doors swish closed behind him and the panel covering the screen slides open; it's activating. He scrabbles at the doors as they close but it's too late.

“ _Kur_

 _va!_ ” he says.

And just as suddenly the doors slide open again.

He's facing into a courtyard. The floor is covered in a fine layer of silt, scuffed with crisscrossing footmarks, and the lights aren't on. He's in the lower levels; and it's one of the parts that were flooded when the shield began to fail, before the city rose.

He keys his radio. “Zelenka to control,” he says.

Static hisses in the silence.

“Control, can you tell me my location?”

Silence.

“ _Do prdele_ ,” he mutters.

The next step is inevitable. There's an access panel to the transporter's systems beneath the map screen, and he reaches for it and pulls it off.  
A folded piece of paper flutters out onto the floor.

Radek picks it up, suspicion beginning to dawn in his mind. And when he unfolds it, he laughs out loud. It's a logic puzzle, and the handwriting is Rodney's. He sits down on the transporter floor, and begins to work on it.

The paper shows a fourteen by fourteen grid of squares. Across the top and down the right hand side, lists of numbers are aligned with the columns and rows. An arrow points into the seventh square from the left on the bottom row, with a note that says 'Start here', and another one leaves the second square down in the left hand column, pointing off the page.

There are three or four numbers in most of the lists, sequences like _1, 2, 6, 1_ and _3, 1, 8_. Radek finds a pencil in the bottom of the toolkit, and starts to look for a way in. The bottom row is 6, 7 and that's easy enough – the square labelled “Start here” stays white, all the rest are black. That gives him an endpoint for the last in each of the ranks of numbers along the top of the grid, and he fills in an uneven series of columns like the indicators on a graphic equaliser. Cross-checking that against the numbers on the right gives him answers he likes, and he gradually fills in the grid from the bottom upwards, the columns marching forward like an army.

And finally, it's done. Pixellated white lines wander around the blacked-out grid, branching and turning corners and occasionally interrupted by a two-by-two open square.

Radek looks at the square space just in front of the 'Start here' arrow, and then up at the courtyard in front of him. There's a path through the grid from the 'Start here' square to the one with the arrow coming out of it. It's a map.

He picks up his toolbox and sets out.

The route on the puzzle-map takes a sharp dogleg to the right just past the courtyard, and when he gets to the corner Radek sees why; a section of the wall has collapsed inwards, blocking the corridor. Welds like raw scars show ugly on the mellow bronze-brown walls, fixing scavenged beams against the ceiling; they stand like a monument to the unseen labour of the repair teams who stabilised these cave-ins. Radek looks for a moment at the city's wounds, then turns away and carries on.

The path jinks and curves, leading back round to the left; Radek is nearly at the end of the map when a second set of footprints joins his route, coming from a different direction. He finds himself smiling. And then he stops; he's at the end of the map, and there in front of him are a pair of tall double doors. The access crystals are glowing softly. He sweeps his hand over them, and sunlight bursts over his face as the door opens onto the sea.

As Radek steps forward warm air caresses him, carrying a tang of salt; he can feel the same warmth radiating all around him as the city itself basks in the golden afternoon. The sea is calm, tiny ripples sparkling in the light. Radek looks around, and there on the balcony, a smile dawning on his face as he puts down his datapad, is Rodney. He's seated on a bright Athosian rug, with a backpack beside him spilling sandwiches and foil-wrapped packages of food.

“You found it,” he says.

“You are deeply irresponsible,” replies Radek, smiling. “What would happen if a major malfunction occurred while we are both lounging on a balcony, hmm?” He walks over to the rug, and looks down at Rodney with amused affection.

“I still have my radio,” says Rodney, answering Radek's smile with his own. “Oh – that reminds me.” He picks up his datapad again and taps a couple of quick commands. “There; yours is working again. I tuned it to an empty frequency. They really should improve the encryption on the central hub.”

Radek keys his radio briefly, just long enough to hear a snatch of chatter on the city's open channel, then takes it off, drops it in his pocket and sits down. “Irresponsible, and also evil,” he declares.

“This isn't too cliche, right?” asks Rodney, looking a little anxious. He offers Radek first choice of the food.

“A surprise picnic, with kidnapping, reprogrammed transporters and home made adventure games? It is a cliché beyond imagination. You are a closet romantic, Rodney, and I am delighted.”

“Good,” says Rodney, his face losing its guardedness, and opening up into a wide, brilliant grin. “Oh, hey,” he adds, as Radek is about to lift a sandwich to his mouth. Radek stops and looks up, and Rodney cups his cheek in one hand and leans over to give him a soft and gentle kiss.

“So,” he says softly. “Let's eat.”

It's Rodney who pushes the backpack aside once they've finished eating, as well, and captures Radek's mouth again. Radek is surprised to find that for all Rodney's insistence he's not pushy; there's that same experimental curiosity, the same slow rhythm full of little pauses, as if he's stopping to soak in every moment of touch. Radek finds himself moulding to Rodney's rhythm, slipping into that same dreamy laxity. The afternoon starts to stretch away ahead of him, suffused with sun and the warm city and the soft press of Rodney's hands; he sighs, and wraps his arm around Rodney's shoulder, pulling him close. And that's when Rodney makes a low mmm, a sound of welcome and assent, and his hand slides down to Radek's waist and pulls him in.

And there it is, under the lazy warmth and tenderness; that serpent of heat, no longer basking in the afternoon sun, but cracking open a watchful eye. Radek can feel Rodney against him, such a solid presence, as if he's made of something that was forged by aeons in the heart of a star. Rodney sighs and winds his arms around Radek, and there's heat at his groin, a more insistent pressure; he's more than half hard. Radek presses his belly in and Rodney's cock leaps. Rodney's hand slides down and tightens on Radek's ass, grinding their hips together, and they freefall together from flirtation into desire. They twist and roll on the soft picnic rug, testing each other; Radek lets Rodney pin him down for a long lazy moment, then flips them over and grins down with wicked charm in his turn. Rodney's eyes widen and his lips part; then his hands reach up to pull Radek down to his mouth. Radek goes willingly, and suddenly they are twining wildly together, rubbing against each other, Radek locked against Rodney's lips and Rodney's hands burning a trail into the bare skin of Radek's back, under his shirt. Radek breaks the kiss to mutter a curse and free his hand; he is tilting his hips sideways, working his fingers between their bodies towards their aching cocks, when Rodney's radio, tossed aside on the rug, crackles and spits, and Sheppard's tinny voice asks “ _Rodney?_ ”

Radek sags in defeat. Rodney closes his eyes, and leans his head into Radek's shoulder for a long moment. Radek presses his cheek against Rodney's temple, briefly, and then slides off him, freeing him to pick up his radio.

“ _Rodney?_ ” it says again, tiny and annoyed. “ _Pick up, I know you're there_.”

“Yes, yes, what?” snaps Rodney, suddenly McKay again.

“ _Get to the gate room and gear up. Lorne's team found something. We're going offworld, now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puzzle enthusiasts may find that Simon Tatham's [Pattern puzzle](http://www.chiark.greenend.org.uk/~sgtatham/puzzles/) looks a bit familiar :)


	3. The Immortal Game

Radek is not in the gate room when Sheppard's team returns. So he doesn't see the grim set of the Colonel's jaw, the blood trickling down his cheek, or the way the team walk: they leave a gap in their midst like a missing tooth. A gap where Rodney should be.

In fact, Radek does not even discover that Rodney has not returned until Elizabeth calls him into her office to put him temporarily in charge of the science team. Something must show in his face when she tells him Rodney is missing, because she stops and says seriously, “We're doing everything we can, Doctor. We've already sent AT-5 through to attempt to open talks with the Vidara and if that falls through, a strike team is preparing as we speak.”

Radek nods sharply. “I will see to it,” he says, and turns on his heel.

He explains the situation to the science team, deals with their enquiries, and goes back to his usual day's work. At the usual time, he goes back to his rooms. When he walks in the door, the first thing he sees is the chessboard, still laid out half-way through their game. Radek closes his eyes for a long moment, and then takes the box down from the shelf; he stands with it in his hands for a while, looking down at the abandoned board. At last he reaches up and puts it back again. They will finish the game later, he promises himself.

The room seems small and stuffy, and so he goes to the commissary to eat, and then walks on the west pier, where it's quiet and the setting sun comes flaming over wolf-grey waves.

On the second day, the lab is quiet; Radek works steadily at his personal projects. He eats in the commissary, and goes along to the biology lab's video night. He doesn't return to his quarters until it's late, and he's tired enough to fall into his bed without switching the light on.

On the third day, everywhere he looks, Rodney is not. He is not in the lab, not in the halls, not at lunch, not in Radek's room. Radek looks at himself in his bathroom mirror, and sees a forty-five year old man, with threads of grey in his unruly hair and creases slowly deepening in his face. He sits down on his bed, hands hanging limply between his knees, and looks at the chessboard emptily.

It is late that night when Rodney walks back through the Gate, dirty, torn up and shaking with adrenaline, Colonel Sheppard and the strike team close behind. Radek is not there, nor is he there in the infirmary as Carson frowns at Rodney's bruises and prescribes him rest and a hearty meal. Rodney does not radio him, or go to his quarters to knock on his door. He goes to his shower and then his bed. It is not until breakfast next day that he sees Radek again.

“I am glad you are all right,” says Radek quietly.

“Meet me on the balcony for lunch?” asks Rodney.

Radek nods.

Rodney is already there when Radek gets to the balcony, leaning against the railings with his back to the sea, waiting. Radek comes up to the door, which opens this time as he approaches it, but stops short, inside the corridor.

Rodney lets the pause draw out for a moment before he pushes himself up and crosses to Radek.

“So,” he says. “We got interrupted, last time.” He's looking Radek right in the eye, head tilted to one side, his tone an invitation and a challenge. “I wonder if that means it's still my turn.”

Radek is silent. Rodney's expression changes, and he steps back a little. Radek looks down, and steps away to lean against the wall, as if grateful for its support.

“Rodney,” he says, softly, “You have been gone three days. When you are gone, there are three options: you will come back dead, you will come back injured, you will come back without a scratch. I must only write software, and wait to see which it will be.”

He stops, and meets Rodney's eyes. “I do not think it is time for this game any more, this make-believe. It is not so easy to wait.”

Rodney looks long at Radek, drawing this into himself as he drew in their kisses before. Radek half-expects a barrage of questions, but instead Rodney crosses over to him once more. He stops, close to Radek, but not touching him; and he searches Radek's face with gentle eyes.

“Again with the change of perspective,” he says quietly.

“I am sorry, Rodney.”

“For what? For caring about me? For chicaning me into understanding something I could have walked right past? For waiting?”

Radek looks away and gives a half-hearted laugh. But he looks back; there's something dawning over Rodney's face, filling it with light as the sun lights up a tropical sea. Rodney slowly starts to smile down at Radek, and Radek feels that smile, in the raw and naked place in his heart. It's been three days since Rodney was with him, three days since they stumbled across that fading track in Radek's heart that used to lead to this place; since yesterday he's been trapped in it, and the light in Rodney's eyes unfolds around him like a breeze and trickles out like a spring upwelling.

Rodney lifts a hand to brush Radek's face, and Radek places his own palm on top of it. Radek leans his cheek into the caress, closing his eyes; then looks up at Rodney. Rodney seems to understand, and gently takes Radek's glasses off his nose; and they both pause, at the new, strange intimacy of Radek's naked face. Then Radek touches Rodney's cheek in turn, Rodney leans in, and the breeze and the spring are all around Radek as Rodney's arms enclose him, as he curls his arms around Rodney, and lets himself dissolve into the kiss.

Rodney pulls back as the long moment fades, as the world's held breath sighs gradually away. He leans his forehead against Radek's, his arms around Radek and Radek's around him. For a long, long time he doesn't speak, too aware of the fragile bubble that holds them suspended in this peace and trust.

“You're right,” he says, at last. “No more games. Only this one.”

Radek's arms tighten a little round his waist, and they fold together as if they've always been this way.

 

_Epilogue_

Rodney opens his mouth to snap something suitably scathing at the fur-draped clansman in front of them, and just as suddenly closes it again.  
“I don't know what the Doc's done to you, McKay, and I don't wanna know,” drawls Sheppard lazily from somewhere behind his right shoulder, “but it sure as hell beats out anything I could come up with.”

Rodney shoots him an acid glare. But he knows it's Radek he sees in his mind when he's about to say something like that; Radek as he looked that day in the corridor, shuttered and sad.

He also knows that when they get home through the Stargate, Radek has promised him they will finish their game of chess, before they either kick the table over in the throes of passion or the pieces start to gather dust.

Humiliating Sheppard can wait. He's got all the time in the world to play games, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Immortal Game is one of the most famous chess games of all time, which took place between Adolf Anderssen and Lionel Kieseritzky in 1851. Kieseritzky and Anderssen were originally playing purely for fun, during a break in a tournament; sometimes it's hard to tell when you're making history.


End file.
